


Absence

by writerdot



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 8x2, Alternate Universe, Gen, Mental Health Issues, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 03:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdot/pseuds/writerdot
Summary: Alternate 8x2. Wilson finds he needs to get away from his life.





	1. Absence of Freedom

This was a mistake.

Wilson can feel the hard wood of his desk under his elbows, sure that he’s going to pull his hair straight out of his own scalp if he continues to grip it in frustration.

Because, damn it, he’d over-estimated himself. He’d thought that it would be easy to be in the same hospital as House, again…he’d thought that he wouldn’t have to follow Cuddy’s lead and rearrange his whole life so he could move on.

He shakes his head. Hindsight is twenty/twenty and suddenly the memory of everything bad flows through his head. Again. Because as much as he’d like to remember the good…it just…it hurts too much. As soon as he unwittingly thinks about the time House showed up in that observation bay when he said he wouldn’t…the time he’d taken Wilson out to after his second divorce and paying for all of his drinks…he shakes his head, because none of those things can happen again.

And he can’t do this anymore, can’t be made to be happy for once, only to be brought down again.

Making a decision in a split second, he brings his palms down on the desk sharply, backs up his chair fast, gets up, opens the office door and walks out, not looking back, not bringing anything with him.

When he gets outside, though, drives as far as he can as fast as he can…

He still doesn’t feel free.


	2. Absence of a Friend

House is trying to decide if he should bother being subtle when going past Wilson’s office (It’s not like he’s been by here three times already, or anything. No, not at all. He doesn’t know that the door has been closed. He hasn’t looked through open blinds on that small window to see that Wilson hasn’t been in there each time. And that nurse he doesn’t recognize manning the nurse’s station down the hall is going to get a cane upside her head if she gives House that raised eyebrow again) but gives up when he gets closer and sees the door is wide open. He looks around before poking his head in, his mouth poised to say something, anything, really. Hell, he’d settle for another argument, even. His mouth closes sharply though, when he sees…

Everything but Wilson.

Wilson’s lab coat is hanging on the coat rack, right next to his light fall jacket. The chair to Wilson’s desk is leaning precariously against the bookshelf behind it and the papers that he knows were on the surface are strewn across the floor.

House frowns, pulls out his phone from his pocket and dials a well-memorized number.

When he hears the vague sounds of vibration against a hard surface, he goes over to the desk and finds the phone under one of the files that hadn’t made it to the floor.

Hanging up, he can’t ignore the pang in his chest, a slightly different sensation than the one that he had tried to ignore when Wilson told him they weren’t friends anymore earlier today, that tells him that something is very wrong here.

And whatever Wilson thinks, or wants him to think about their relationship, he’s going to find out exactly what that something is.


	3. Absence of Certainty

It hits him, the second he crosses the border out of New Jersey and sees the "Welcome to Delaware sign" exactly what it is he's done.

He's just abandoned his job, his patients...and after everything Foreman had done for him and he'd just walked out. And he left Ho-

No, he thinks desperately. He finds suddenly that he has to pull over, just beyond that sign, to try to convince himself that now is not the time to have a nervous breakdown. It takes him a good ten minutes (he knows because the dim lighting of the clock on the dash is oddly mesmerizing. He also sees that it's been nearly two hours since he left) and some deep breaths to get himself under control. When he does, he grips the steering wheel, takes the car out of park, and merges slowly back into the flow of traffic.

Seeing a gas station at the next exit, he gets off the freeway and drives to it, pulling the car into a parking spot carefully, almost without realizing he's doing it. Looking around, he sees a pay phone a couple feet away from where he's sitting, so he gets out, goes over to it picks, it up, pops a quarter in (he sighs in relief when he realizes his wallet is still in his pocket), and dials.

"Foreman."

"It's Wilson."

He can practically hear Foreman stop what he's doing. "Wilson, where the hell are you? House is going berserk over here."

"I-I'm sorry. I know, I just...wasn't thinking."

Foreman exhales loudly. "You okay?"

He pauses for a second. "No. No, I don't think I am."

"Okay," Foreman says simply. Wilson knows that he had seen that coming. "Where are you?"

"Just crossed into Delaware. I'm going to find a hotel here tonight."

"Okay. Wilson, do you want me to tell House where you are?"

Wilson closes his eyes. "He's got that ankle bracelet right? The one you told me about?"

"Yes."

"Then tell him what you need to."

"Okay," Foreman answers slowly. "Luckily you didn't have an appoinment until, well, a half hour ago, but we covered that. I'll handle everything else for...?"

"I...don't know."

"A week," Foreman decides for him. "If you need more, just let me know."

"Right," Wilson says. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Talk to you soon."

Wilson hangs the phone up and rests his forehead on the dirty frame of the payphone for a minute or two, before making his way back to his car to find some place to stay for the time being.


	4. Absence of Simplicity Part 1

Foreman hangs up with his Head of Oncology and begins arrangements to cover him immediately. It’s no wonder it had taken Wilson this long to go off the rails. While House was gone it was easy for the man to pretend he’d never existed, not that Foreman blames him. Not in the least, not after what Wilson went through when House left to begin with.

Wilson had said to tell him what he needed to...Foreman thinks on that a second and realizes that there are things House needs to know, before he goes on some crusade to drag Wilson back when he finds out here he is. On that note, he grabs one last item from a low drawer in his desk, something buried under a slew of other paperwork, even though he'd known when he put it there that he might need it someday. He sets it on top of everything else, and walks out of his office.

He knows that, since all House has to go to for an office isn’t much better than a janitor’s closet, that his former boss is going to be in the best place to cause the most havoc.

Which is why he’s not entirely surprised when he finds House sitting right on the counter outside of the clinic, banging his cane loudly against the surface between his knees.

Foreman’s just glad that he isn’t swearing at people…anymore. It’s as though House thinks that every man, woman and child is at fault for Wilson disappearing. 

Foreman stands in front of him, hands clasped behind his back, and says, “How’s the patient?”

“You got me out of prison for an idiot who doesn’t know not to eat paint,” House snaps, slamming his cane against the counter again.

Foreman shrugs. “If you want to go back, I’m more than happy to accommodate you.”

House gets off of the counter and looks at him sharply. “Wilson.”

Foreman sighs this time. “Come with me.”

“You’ve heard from him.”

“Yes. Follow me.”

House doesn’t argue, thankfully. Once the door to the office is closed, and the blinds shuttered, Foreman goes to the desk, picks up the small piece of paper he’d set there, and turns toward him again.

“You may want to sit down. Before I tell you where Wilson is, there are some things you need to know.”

“Just give it to me,” House says impatiently. Without another word, Foreman hands it over.

He knows exactly what it says:

Dead Body Originally Thought to be Missing Doctor has been identified as Someone Else 

Princeton-Plainsboro- As previously reported, the Princeton-Plainsboro authorities originally suspected that the body found badly beaten was Doctor Gregory House, the man police have been searching for since he crashed his car into the house of Doctor Lisa Cuddy, his ex-girlfriend, three weeks ago. A close friend of Doctor House has reported to have proven their suspicions wrong, however, and the body found has been identified as Adam Freeman, 52, from Trenton, New Jersey.

So far, leads for the search for Doctor House have run dry. 

Foreman watches as House finishes, sees that House’s eyes have closed, tightly. When House looks at him, he whispers, “The ‘close friend’…”

“Was Wilson, yes,” Foreman answers, unnecessarily.

House exhales explosively, but doesn’t say anything. Foreman gives him a second to collect himself, then points to a chair, again. “Have a seat, House. We need to talk.”


	5. Absence of Simplicity Part 2

June 2, 2011

Foreman watches Wilson’s eyes widen in surprise to see someone else at his desk, but he recovers himself, closes the office door and turns to him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Wilson asks, hugging patient files to his chest, the blue cast on his right wrist peeking out of the sleeve of his lab coat.

Foreman looks at his Head of Oncology (as of two days ago) and wonders how he’s managed to stay standing. He looks exhausted and the bags under his eyes are dark and puffy.

“Have a seat,” Foreman says gently. Wilson looks at him wearily, but does so.

“I’m not here in an official capacity,” Foreman continues. “But a few people have come to me voicing their concerns about you.”

Wilson frowns. “What concerns?”

“That you seem tired and distracted, nobody sees you eat much at work…”

“My work has not suffered,” Wilson answers firmly.

“No,” Foreman concedes. “Your patient reviews are still glowing, Wilson. These concerns are from people who care about you and are troubled.”

“So, this is some kind of intervention?”

“If it has to be,” Foreman says. “Because going out every night to search every bar in New Jersey for House isn’t healthy for you. I think it’s becoming an obsession.”

“How did you-“Wilson closes his eyes in realization. “Remy.”

“She was worried about you,” Foreman answers.

“I just needed help with…never mind. Look, my work hasn’t suffered, I’m fine. She should worry less about me and more about getting ready for her new job.”

“Wilson,” Foreman responds gently. He would like to say that he understands, but he doesn’t and has never really understood Wilson’s loyalty to House, so instead, he says,“It’s been over a week.”

Wilson drops his gaze and visibly deflates, “I know.”

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“If I had done more…”

“That’s not healthy either.”

Wilson slumps in his seat dejectedly. “I just…he hasn’t contacted me. No phone calls, no note, nothing.” He bites his lip. “What if he’s…?”

“The police are working on it.” He decides to leave the ‘because they want to press charges’ thought unsaid.

“I can’t give up,” Wilson says, locking eyes tiredly, but resolutely, with Foreman’s.

Foreman sighs with a shake of his head. “If you need anything, then, let me know.”

Present

“And he didn’t give up, House, not until he got that call. ” Foreman says, as the memory of Wilson’s tearful phone call in the middle of the night, and the way Wilson’s voice wavered heavily as he said “They think they found him” comes unwillingly to his mind.

“After that, it was like a switch turned off inside him. The police thought it was you because the body was found badly beaten outside of a bar you frequented, and looked enough like you to give them a reasonable suspicion, but he knew you better than anyone. Still, it didn’t matter that they were wrong. It could have been a confirmation of his worst fear and after that, he was still the consummate boss and doctor, but he would work and go home. That was it. He stopped talking about you, he stopped searching for you. And for God’s sake, House, when you turned yourself in…he heard about that from the news. You still didn’t contact him. ”

Foreman is sure that an expression something like shame comes across House’s face, but it’s gone so quickly, he can’t be sure.

“So why did you bring me back, then? Wilson said it was your idea.”

“It was,” Foreman confirms. “And he didn’t fight me on it, because, as far as he was concerned, all he had left are the patients. There was something wrong with one and he knew you’d be the person to figure it out. I asked him if he thought he could handle that and he said he could.”

“You shouldn’t have believed him,” House answers. “He’s perfected the art of bottling himself up.”

“That much is evident,” Foreman responds, dryly. “But, like I said, he didn’t fight me on it.”

House shakes his head, but Foreman isn’t sure what he’s responding, to.

“One more, thing, House,” Foreman says firmly. He waits for House to look at him again, then continues, “Before I tell you where he is, you need to realize that if there is any feeling in him that is telling him that it’s okay to get over this and try some kind of friendship with you again and you go after him, attempt to drag him back kicking and screaming, you run the risk of losing him permanently.”

“And I’ll be arrested,” House snaps, but the comment lacks any heat. Foreman can practically hear the gears turning in the other man’s mind.

“That, too,” Foreman agrees.

House nods slowly, looking distracted, so Foreman waits for him to process. When House meets his eyes again, Foreman gives him what he wants.

“All I know is that he’d crossed the border into Delaware when he called me…which was about 45 minutes ago.”

“That’s it?”

“He didn’t know where he would be staying yet.”

House exhales impatiently, levers himself up and leaves without another word.

As the door slamming echoes through the office, Foreman fervently hopes he’d managed to get through to him.


	6. Absence of Imprudence

He’s rubbing his cane slowly between his open palms, not even really consciously aware that he’s doing it. Thoughts and ideas are rolling through his head and not one of them are telling him what to do about Wilson. He owes Wilson an explanation…whether he’d be willing to hear it, however, is a different story altogether. He just has to figure out what to do to show Wilson that-

He nearly jumps when there is a knock on the door. Well, at least there is a door here for some one to knock on.

“Doctor House,” his new little minion says, voice muffled slightly from the door. “The nurses said you were in here.”

“Enter!” he hollers.

“Um…” she answers hesitantly. “It’s a bathroom.”

House rolls his eyes impatiently and levers himself off of the toilet he’s been sitting on. Opening the door, he pokes his head out and peers at her. “What do you have?”

“He’s at a Best Western in Wilmington.”

“You’re sure?”

Park shrugs, handing him a piece of paper with the information of the hotel on it. “The receptionist recognized the description you gave me. He didn’t even bother to use an alias.”

House is thinking that's just because Wilson must know about his wireless leash, which he must since finding him was so easy.

"Oh, also," Park pipes up when he doesn't respond to her. "The patient-"

"Still alive?" House interrupts.

"Uh, yes, and she's responding to-"

"Cool. Don't care." House turns back to the bathroom but before he can get the door closed, her voice stops him.

"What do I do now?"

"Also," he retorts, "Don't care. See ya!" he doesn't wait for her to respond this time before he pops back into the bathroom and locks the door.

Sitting back on the toilet, he regards the information on the paper carefully, because he has no idea what the hell to do about it. Sure, he knows where Wilson is now, and as much as he would love to talk to him face to face, Foreman is right (even though he's loathe to admit that), it would cause more damage than good. Beside the fact that he can't very well fix things if he gets thrown back into prison.

God, if he could repair this with food, beer and movies, he would. If he could just show Wilson that he was willing to meet him halfway, would be willing to wait if he could just have a chance to explain…

Wait a minute, he thinks suddenly. If he could just show Wilson he was willing to wait...

And that’s when it comes to him.

Jumping up from his perch he grabs his cane and heads toward the elevators. Getting out, he heads toward Foreman’s office, opening the door loudly. He'd have to take time to revel in interrupting a meeting later.

“How much time did you give him?”

“House, what the-?”

“Wilson,” House interrupts impatiently. “You had to have given him time off to…deal, or whatever. How much?”

Foreman looks at the other person there apologetically before looking at House, partly in some sense of understanding and another part exasperation. “A week. More if he asks for it.”

House nods shortly, turns around and limps right back out of the door again.

*****

There are papers all over the floor of his little kitchen as he searches through his junk drawer. It’s not really as though the mess he’s just made matters, though…the apartment certainly looks and feels like it’s been abandoned for a year. He's just glad he'd managed to take care of the payments for this place before he left.

But, dammit, he knows it’s in here. It has to be…he can’t think of anywhere else he would have put it.

He’s proven right a second later when his fingers encounter the thin, rectangular object. With a crow of triumph, he pulls out his cellphone from his pocket, along with the piece of paper containing the number of Wilson’s hotel in Delaware.

“Yeah,” he says, once a bland woman’s voice answers with the requisite fake-cheerful greeting. “You have a patron checked in under the name of James Wilson, right?”


	7. Absence of Interference

He half, or no, really, expects House to just show up at his hotel room door, ankle bracelet be damned, demanding he come back and pretend that everything’s okay…that they both don’t have issues demanding attention in droves.

But when he wakes up to the sun shining in his face the next morning and no loud knocking at his door…well, he isn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

He glances at the clock then buries his head in the pillow to get away from the sun that is far too cheerful for all of the dejection he’s feeling about everything that’s going on. But he realizes quickly that check out is in an hour and he needs to take care of the room for the rest of the week.

Pulling himself slowly out of bed, he sits up and rubs his eyes, which feel like they’re full of grains of sand. He figures that he should feel more rested considering it’s almost 11 o’ clock on the morning, but he feels more exhausted now than he did the night before.

He stands in the shower for too long, takes time to get dressed in a simple jeans and a t-shirt, before going down to the reception area. A pretty blonde receptionist looks at him with a smile that he can’t quite find it in him to return.

This doesn’t seem to deter her, though. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?” she says cheerfully.

“Yes,” He responds. “I’m in room 102. I just paid for it for last night, but I think I’m going to stay for another few days.”

She nods. “Name?”

“James Wilson.”

She types on the computer for a second and an odd look crosses her face.

“Is there something wrong?” he inquires.

With a shake of her head, she turns another cheerful smile at him. “No, Mr. Wilson, not at all. But according to this, you’re all paid up through the next six days.”

Wilson blinks. “What?”

“Yes,” she confirms, looking at the screen. “And it looks like…yes.” She turns away and goes through what looks like a stack of messages. She grabs one, looks at it, and hands it to him. “This was left for you last night by the person who paid for your room. It’s noted here that the message wasn’t to be given to you until you came down this morning.”

Wilson takes the offering in a daze and examines it. When he sees what it says, he nearly bursts into tears.

I’ll be here.

It doesn’t have a signature, but it doesn’t need one. He hadn’t seen this coming, but he knows exactly who left this message…who paid for him to get himself back together.

Without another word, he turns and walks away, going back to his room and sitting on the edge of the bed. The phone is right there, right in front of him on the nightstand. Before he can stop to second guess himself, he picks it up and dials a number he’s never forgotten.

“’Lo.”

Wilson closes his eyes. “It’s me.”

He can hear a sudden and inexplicable rustling, as though House was still in bed, but isn’t anymore. “Wilson.”

“Hi.”

House exhales over the phone line. “You got my-uh…”

“Yeah,” Wilson whispers. “Yeah, I got it.”

And suddenly House is rambling, speaking in a way that Wilson’s never heard from him before in twenty years. “I swear this isn’t some trick. I’m not screwing with you. I just…I found the credit card I got Steve McQueen all those years ago…you remember that? You nagged me for days for committing credit card fraud, but of course I’m going to pay it, you know, when I’m making more than minimum wage…for some reason it’s still active and the limit isn’t the best, but you’re covered for—“

Wilson takes a deep, shaky breath. “House, thank you.”

“When…or-or, if-“ House says hesitantly, “-you’re ready to talk to me, I owe you an explanation.”

Wilson nods, even though House can’t see him, and rubs a finger under his eye where he can feel gathering tears. “Okay.”

He’s pretty sure he hears House nod in response. “Okay.”

He hangs up the phone slowly…and just has to restrain every urge he has in him to jump back into his car and go straight back to New Jersey.


	8. Absence of Ease

Six days later, House comes out of his newly re-acquired office, after saving his second patient since Foreman had sprung him, and stands in front of the door to Wilson’s. He hasn’t heard from him in the time since that phone call, but he isn’t really surprised by that. In some ways, he’s glad that Wilson has taken time to think things through, though now that the week is over and he stares at the engraving of Wilson’s name on the door, he’s even more uneasy that, after all this, Wilson will decide that their friendship isn’t worth it after all.

“He hasn't contacted me.”

House turns around to see Foreman coming toward him, hands in his pockets. He stops so they’re standing side-by-side.

“He hasn’t called and asked for more time,” Foreman continues.

House nods. “That doesn’t really mean anything. He could choose not to come back.”

“Or he could prove you wrong,” Foreman responds. House watches him reach into his pocket, pulling something out. “Here. Take this. This is a small advance of your paycheck, but I’m sure you could do without bumming money off of Park for the cafeteria for tonight.”

House stares at the fifty dollar bill in Foreman’s hand, before plucking out of his fingers, quickly deciding that it was in his best interest not to mention the credit card in the name of a long dead rat, and the limit he’d officially reached when he ordered in groceries a couple days ago.

“That means you let me con money out of her for a week before giving me this,” House answers instead.

Foreman just shrugs. “Survival of the fittest, I guess. I figured she should get more of a crash-course in your insanity, besides her beginning her time with you by searching for someone she doesn't even know, that isn't remotely medically relevant, then you having her run every test imaginable on your patients, that are also not always medically relevant. It's always a good idea for the new people to get...acclimated... as quickly as possible.”

House grins. “Not sure that’s proper behavior for the Dean of Medicine.”

“Plausible deniability, since I heard about it through the grape-vine. Besides, why are you arguing if it benefits you?”

Fair enough, House thinks, as Foreman turns and makes his way back to the elevators.

“Hey, boss!”

Foreman turns back to him with a snort. “You still can’t have Chase, Taub and Thirteen, House. You’re lucky I gave you your office back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” House waves a hand dismissively, since Foreman doesn't need to know that he's still working on that. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

Foreman tilts his head, telling him to get on with it. House looks down at the ground for a second, then back at the other man.

“Thanks,” he says hesitantly.

Foreman smiles and seems to understand that House is thanking him for more than the money. “You’re welcome.”

*****

A half hour later, he’s sitting at the piano in his still dusty apartment. He tinkers with the keys, continuing to try to get his mind off the fact that check-out at that Best Western was nearly six hours ago, now. He’s simultaneously worried about Wilson’s well-being, and skeptical that Foreman hadn’t been elaborately screwing with him when he said that Wilson hadn’t asked for more time, and Wilson, for whatever reason, hadn’t called to tell him he’d done so.

He shakes his head. This whole train of thought is threatening to drive him just a little crazier, so he attempts to focus on the piano again, instead.

He’s just coaxed a nameless melody from the keys when he hears a knock on the door. Closing the lid, he grabs his cane and goes to pay the guy, using up the fifty Foreman gave him all in one go. As he closes the door and the smell of the food flows through the bag, he thinks it just might be worth it. It’s been so long since he’s had a good steak.

He just wishes…

Before he can finish that idea, though, another knock reverberates throughout the apartment.

He sets the food down on the floor and opens the door again. “Hey, that’s all the tip you’re getting, so-“

He stops, because it isn’t the delivery guy.

He has no idea why he’s surprised, considering how long he’s waited for this, but Wilson is looking at him hesitantly, as though he’s the one in danger of being rejected, shuffling his feet and scratching at his eyebrow with his thumb. “Hey.”

And before he can think about what he’s doing, before he can stop and mock himself for being ten kinds a sentimental idiot, House lets his cane drop to the floor, reaches forward and pulls Wilson against him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

Wilson’s body freezes, his arms still at his sides. “House?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re, uh…you’re hugging me.”

“I am, yes.”

House feels Wilson nod against his shoulder as though he’d simply been looking for confirmation before he could relax and when, a second later, Wilson wraps his arms around him in return, House just holds on tighter.


	9. Absence of Pretense

He’s not sure how long they stand there holding onto each other. The abstract thought that this is completely uncharted territory, them hugging each other like this, passes through his mind, but he swats it away, because, damn it, this feels….safe.

Reality comes crashing down, however, when House lets him go. Wilson backs away and looks at him, realizing that they have to have a serious conversation and he’s not looking forward to it. He almost wishes House would hug him again, so he can feel like he can delay the inevitable.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stares down at his feet. “Sorry it took me so long…I just...” drove around for hours, working up the courage to do this, is what he wants to say, but doesn’t.

But he looks up in time to see House nod, he thinks that House understands him being scared, because with that hug, House has shown him that he’s afraid, too, whether he realizes that’s what he was implying or not.

House tilts his head, gesturing to the bags on the floor with a heavenly smell emanating from them. “Want some steak?”

Wilson shakes his head slowly. “I, uh, gave up red meat a while ago.”

“Okay,” House says. He bends down to pick up the bag, before moving to the kitchen. “I’ll just stick this in the fridge for later.”

“I don’t want to interrupt if you want to eat, House.”

House comes back out of the kitchen. “I’m not really hungry anymore.”

Wilson swallows hard and nods. He doesn’t like the wall of awkwardness that is surrounding them, even worse than when they first spotted each other across a crowded lobby after not seeing the other for a year. Worse than that initial conversation when Wilson tried to convince House (and himself) that they simply just…weren’t friends anymore. This is harder, because he has ideas that he needs to get out…it’s more difficult, because, now, he’s done deluding himself that he can push everything down, ignore his issues, and they will just go away.

They move to the couch and sit. Wilson is trying to work up the courage to talk, so when the first comment he’s been dying to make comes to his mind, he just lets it out.

“You left.”

House sighs. “Yes.”

“You stayed gone.”

“Wilson, I…”

But he stops when Wilson looks at him. “Why did you come back?”

Wilson watches House grip his cane as he thinks. “Because…because there was only so long I could pretend.”

Wilson frowns. “Pretend what?”

House waves a hand toward Wilson’s right wrist. “That I hadn’t caused you to break that. That I hadn’t hurt you, hurt Cuddy…I told the parole board at my hearing that I thought that I could have seen one of the people in Cuddy’s house move back into the dining room, but, honestly, Wilson, I don’t even remember most of that night. I couldn’t tell you what I was feeling.”

“You were on a lot of Vicodin,” Wilson says carefully.

“I was,” House agrees. “It’s a crappy excuse, but it’s true. As for not contacting you…I kept telling myself on that island that it would be so easy to just pick up the phone and call you and we’d talk. I kept telling myself ‘I’ll just call him tomorrow’ and before I knew it, three months had passed…”

“Your illusion could only last so long,” Wilson whispers, understanding immediately what that felt like.

House nods again. “When I finally got my head out of my ass and turned myself in, I wanted to clean up, serve my time before I talked to you again. It was stupid, but I thought after I went to prison, it would be easy to go back to where we were. But I didn’t know…Foreman told me what happened with the police, Wilson. I’m sorry you went through that.”

Wilson looks down at his hands. “The thing is, House…we’ve done a lot of shit to each other over the years, you and I…we’ve always found some way to get past it. The time that it took me to look for you, I kept telling myself that this is one more thing that we could get through, it would be a little harder, but we could do it. But when I got that call…I realized that that hope was getting me nowhere. I figured that that would be the rest of my life. I could keep getting calls from the police asking me to identify your body…and I had to protect myself.”

House blinks slowly. “There was only the one time, right?”

Wilson can feel himself getting defensive. “Yes, only the one time, but-“

But House holds up a hand. “No, I wasn’t—I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t more that Foreman hadn’t told me.”

“Once was all it took,” Wilson murmurs.

“I know, Wilson. I’m sorry.”

Wilson takes a deep breath. “House, for me to be able to continue to be your friend, I need some things to change. See, I know who you are. I know you’re a sarcastic ass and you won’t pay for your own food. I know you hate the clinic and love to throw things at people from the balcony. I know you think that I care too much and that you think you don’t care-“Wilson stops and smiles gently. “Except that you’re also the person who does little things for me when you know I need it, like paying for me to think about this and get myself back together. Really, for all the bad memories there are also a slew of good ones. I wouldn’t let myself remember that for the longest time. And that person is my best friend, House. The good and bad, I like that person.

“But… I can’t…I can’t be friends with the guy who jumped off a hotel balcony, making me think he was leaping to his death…I can’t be friends with the guy who crashes his car into his ex’s house and leaves everyone else to deal with the aftermath…and leaves me thinking that you were dead for three months.”

Wilson stops to gather himself, looks House squarely in the eye, and says, “I’m sorry, and it hurts to say that, but I can’t.”

House is looking at him, and Wilson sees the expression that he’s watched happen a thousand times over the years, the one that Wilson knows is House examining every word over again in his mind, looking for other permutations and subtext.

But Wilson has just laid his heart on the line, and he can feel it pounding in anticipation. He’s afraid that he’s gone too far now, calling House out when he’s already paid the price in prison, and by paying for his hotel room, but he needed to say it.

A few minutes later, when House hasn’t said anything at all, Wilson closes his eyes tightly. “I’ll just, uh…I’ll just…go.”

He gets up and walks to the door, but stops just as his hand is on the doorknob when he hears House’s voice.

“Why’d you give up red meat?”

Wilson turns gently, because of all the things for House to ask him, that wasn’t one he expected. “I…I saw Adams for a checkup and he said my cholesterol was high.”

But House is looking at him, knowingly, levering himself off the couch. “That may be a reason,” He says slowly, walking toward him. “But that’s not why.”

Wilson sighs in resignation. “It was one decision that I could make for myself…one that was in my control to make, to be healthier. Because as much as I tried to distance myself from you while you were gone…you were still here. I couldn’t get away.”

House smiles, a smile that isn’t mocking him. It’s just one of understanding. “Only you could put all of that symbolism into deciding not to eat red meat.”

Wilson can’t help the motion of his own lips turning up in response. “Well, you know me.”

“I do,” House states firmly, and Wilson knows he’s right, House does know him.

“And I hear you, Wilson,” he continues, eyes flashing with something Wilson can’t name. “I know.”

Wilson searches his face, looks into his eyes, an action that feels strange, but right now, it’s telling him all he needs to know. He slowly nods his head.

House smiles again. “So, I only got one steak, but I can share. Just this once.”

And Wilson feels himself relax, and decides that, though some things can change, some things stay the same.

“A steak,” he answers slowly. “sounds really, really good.”


	10. Absence of Finality

Absence of Finality

House gleefully enjoys barging into Wilson office, again, repeatedly, multiple times a day. He grins to himself, now, as he’s pretty sure that this is the eighth time today. That’s a record for him for visits made in the last few days since their talk.

This time, though, he doesn’t get to make his grand entrance. Wilson beats him to the punch, opening the door as he pulls on his lab coat in the process.

The look on Wilson’s face when he sees him is classic exasperated/amused. It’s so much fun putting that look there.

“House,” Wilson groans. “I have rounds.”

“Can’t be more important than dinner,” House points out cheerfully.

Wilson closes the door. “Didn’t you say the rest of your team is starting on Monday? Go make up a list of things that you could use to welcome them back. Or hey, even better, go bug Foreman for an hour. Just think, as your boss, there are entirely new ways to torture him.”

He’s kind of surprised he hadn’t thought of that before. It is a new experience having an old subordinate as his boss…he could take that out on Foreman in new and interesting ways. Provided he does it well enough that he doesn't end up back in prison, of course. That could be difficult, but he's up for the challenge.

Wilson, with his mind-reading powers, seems to know what he’s thinking, because there’s a knowing smirk on his face as he starts walking down the hallway. “Go. I’ll page you when I’m done.”

“You’ll have my alibi ready when I superglue every file he has to his desk?”

Wilson is walking back-wards as he answers. “Not your best, but I’m prepared. Alibi number 11 is in the file of ‘Crap House Does That I Need to Be Prepared For.’”

“Is that in front of the file of ‘Things to say to the Dean when House Disappears?’”

“And right behind the one with pictures of everything you’ve done in case I need blackmail material,” Wilson affirms.

House chuckles as he watches his best friend’s retreating back. Quickly deciding that he’s going to take over Wilson’s office until he’s done with his doctor crap, he limps in and closes the door.

He sits down at the desk and thinks for a moment.

Wilson’s right, he realizes. That prank idea isn’t his best. Now, he’s thinking he should test run it on Wilson first.

He grins. This is going to be fun.


End file.
